


Marked

by TVateMyBrain (datsunblue)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Sentimental Sherlock, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1564148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/datsunblue/pseuds/TVateMyBrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a silly thing to do, but anyone else will surely take it for a scar. And he likes to have a reminder.</p><p>*Sort of, almost fits into the “Small Boxes” storyline, but not quite. Sherlock is in his 50's. And feeling......   sentimental.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Small Boxes in Dark Rooms](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1297105) by [TVateMyBrain (datsunblue)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/datsunblue/pseuds/TVateMyBrain). 



It doesn't really sit well with the things he used to say, about his body merely being a vessel. But if those things were true then, they certainly aren't now. It is a facade, of necessary lies. But there are cracks.

The idea sneaks up on him. A scar on his palm from a broken glass beaker at the lab. A case involving a certain gang. Trafficking. Prison tattoos. A night spent in a rather unusual club, looking for clues on the bodies of others. A little idle internet research.

She likes his scars. Runs her fingertips across them, like reading braille.

A notch in his hairline, the legacy of a large book on anatomy that fell on him, from the top shelf of the bookcase when he was six. A three inch slice across his left bicep, is the memory of a broken bottle, used as a weapon. His knees could be a novel on gangly teenage boyhood. His hands bear burns from experiments, and four small round scars where a cousin stabbed him in the back of the hand with a fork. It got infected.

He doesn't tend to heal well. 

* * * * *  
He is barely awake when he feels her lips on his palm. Her fingers against his own as she brings his hand to her cheek. The pad of his thumb rests gently against her closed eyelid, and he feels the bizarre sensation of her eyeball shifting beneath it. After a minute or so, she moves to place a kiss on the tip of each finger.

“What's this?” Her sleep-husky murmur.  
She is tracing a scar she hasn't seen before. His left hand ring finger, at the base. On the underside, very close to where the flesh folds. A tiny mark. Four little white lines leaning against one another. Slightly raised like a scar, but a little too perfect.

“Is that a “W”?

He can hear the tickle of laughter and delight behind her mock confusion.

“Hmmm. Could it be for Watson perhaps? John Watson?”

A smile spreads across his face at that, but he doesn't open his eyes.

“No? Well.... I know. It's “The Woman” isn't it?”

He snorts a little laugh at that idea.

“Oh, no, of course! You're married to your work! The “W” is for “The Work”.

He finally opens his eyes, to meet her brown ones, peering at him playfully across the top of their hands, as she continues to trace the mark with a fingertip.

“You're looking at it upside down, silly.”

“Oh, it's an “M”. But why would you get your brother's initial tattooed in white ink? Did you lose a bet?” The grin on her face is simply ridiculous. 

“You know I didn't.” He pulled her close then, snaking an arm over her waist and burying his face in her neck.

“Must be in memory of Moriarty then. Maybe Sebastian Moran too? Or do you have a secret crush on Mary? I'm not sure how John would feel about that.” She says these words into his ear as she brushes his greying curls back so she can nibble his earlobe.

“Shut up and kiss me Molly Hooper.”

* * * * *


End file.
